


Nightlife

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick of sharing his Bat, the Joker decides to insert himself into Bruce's personal life- at one of Gotham's lively nightclubs. And though the Joker expected his plan to go off without a hitch- he never expected to find such a willing partner in Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightlife

The sounds were drumming in his ears, a constant hum that made the Joker’s head spin.

He was hidden in the shadows- much like his usual ways in the allies- leaning against a smooth wall. The room was black, neon lights illuminating various spots in a pulsing beat with the sounds around him. He saw every color change, heard every change in beat, felt the way the air prickled around him with moving bodies.

He blended in better than he should have in Gotham’s nightlife. Curious what a change of clothing and slightly different make-up could do. Funny, how truly blind the rest of them were.

He drummed his fingers on the wall, waiting, biding his time. He knew he was here, his target, his obsession, the one thing in the whole city he craved, needed like dynamite and gunpowder and a good crack to the skull.

Closing his green eyes, he pictured the big bad Bat, all covered in black like night, those fists pounding into his body, fingers sinking into his hair to smack it off the ground. His lips parted and absent mindedly he palmed at his crotch, half hard at just the thought of good ole Batman and his vivacious violence.

He slit his eyes open, content that no one took a single notice to him- good, he needed to find him first. He knew he was here, somewhere, it was all over the gossip, the wasted breath of sheep. For once it was useful.

He couldn’t get to his Batsy the way he wanted during the regular dances, not with all that tricky armor. There was no way to slid against him, no way to tease skin. He had to get him naked, so to speak, free of the Kevlar. He had to get him when he _wasn’t_ Batman.

Most of Gotham seemed to find that impossible. But the Joker knew, had known, for some time. He put the voices together, even if one was gravely and hoarse, the other smooth, like silk cradling his balls. He sucked on his own lower lip at the thought. After he’d heard that voice, put it to his memory of where he’d heard it, he’d covered the top half of the TV with a piece of torn newspaper, watching that mouth and chin. They may have thought he was crazy, but the Joker knew, he knew. He remembered, more than anyone else ever did, because he saw and felt more than they did.

And that mouth gave Bruce Wayne away as the one and only Batman.

The Joker pushed himself off the wall, deciding to patrol around the club. While this wasn’t his ideal way to spend an evening- far too little gunpowder and explosions, and typically large men with capes and delicious scowls- he was intent to shove his hands in the pockets of the tight fitting pants he’d donned and scan the room for his target.

As he knew, Bruce Wayne was there, in the company of a few bea-u-tiful ladies. The Joker watched him, leaning against a railing near the stairs that led up to the table Bruce was sitting at. Dark hair, dark eyes, smooth skin, he really _was_ a pretty man. The Joker licked his rosy lips, tongue tasting lipstick, not paint. He’d colored them like a Hollywood Harlot, shadowed his eyes in far too much black, but had left his skin unpainted, had not exaggerated his smile with red. His scars were still there, but in this light who could tell without looking?

The Joker knew he had men around the room, should he need them. Thugs without clown masks, it was weird for him. But he could step outside his tastes for a lick at Batsy.

His fingers in his pocket roamed over a switchblade, to the small detonator. He had no intention of toying with it with the delectable Mr. Wayne in the building, but if need be he had this place wired for fireworks. Fireworks and mayhem, something to remind Gotham that he was here, he was just a bit preoccupied. Something to convince Brucie to play this new game by _his_ rules.

He watched a moment longer, as one of the girls laughed and tossed her head back, rich blonde curls cascading around her. Ideally, the Joker thought his curls were much more attractive- natural, as a start, and that rich green he’d freshly dyed just for Bats. The thought has crossed his mind to wash the green away, dye over with a blonde to match his natural hair- but that was _far_ too normal a look, even when trying to blend in. He did want his Batsy to recognize him, after all.

Growing sick of the women’s flirtatious smiles at _his_ man, the Joker sauntered up the stairs, past a few nightlifers holding their drinks and chit-chatting away. He pushed his way to the table, and leaned down against the chair of the blonde who was laughing.

“Move it, sugar,” he said, and she stopped, glaring at him. Bruce, in that moment, was turned, talking away to the brunette he had with him. She opened her mouth to protest, and he just grinned, pulling the switchblade from his pocket and slipping it open. “Did I stutter, sweetheart?”

She stared, before stumbling up and sauntering off in a huff. The Joker laughed- the little thing had some spunk.

He closed the blade, shoved it into his pocket, and sat down in her seat, resting his arm on the table and leaning his chin into his palm.

When Bruce turned around to say something to the blonde, he was met with dazzling, devious green eyes, and that big, crimson grin. The light in his eyes died in a moment- he didn’t mistake the man for an instant.

“Hi there, sweetcheeks,” he said, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Joker,” he said, though he expertly kept his voice from slipping into that guttural growl the painted man knew all to well. Bruce was always on his toes, it seemed, to keep that part of him a secret. _Such a shame- the Bat is just such fun!_

“Hate to interrupt your da-te,” he said, “but frankly, I was feeling a little _left out_.”

Confused, Bruce raised a dark eyebrow. “What do you mean-“

“Night is _our_ time, Bats.” The name came as a hiss, a delicious one- and Bruce’s face went from guarded to openly shocked, to a hint of rage.

“How did you-“

“I’m not blind,” the Joker said, sitting up straighter and drumming his fingers on the table. “Read my file- you’ll know. They’ve got all sorts of _int-er-esting_ theories on me at Arkham.” He leaned in closer. “But that’s besides the point, _dar-ling_. It’s too loud here- and I want to talk. Do they have somewhere pri-vate?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you-“

“Ah ah ah,” the Joker wagged his finger as he pulled the detonator from his pocket. “You come with me, or I blow us all _sky high_ Bats. I’ve got enough men scattered around to keep order if I need it- while I get my pretty ass out of here.” He licked his lips and grinned. “So what’s it gonna be, Bats? Go for a little flight with everyone, or spend some time alone with little ole me?”

Bruce gritted his teeth, then turned and leaned over to his brunette date, whispering something to her and placing a playful hand on her thigh. The Joker’s eye twitched. _He_ wanted that hand.

Then Bruce was standing up. The Joker stood, and Bruce leaned in, speaking into his ear over the loud hum of the music, his breath hot and ghosting over the Joker’s exposed skin chillingly.

“Follow me.”

And he followed. He followed his Bat like a dog chasing a car- except quieter, for once. They weaved through the dance floor, past grinding, hot bodies and delirium. The first time the sheep dared to almost separate the Joker from his Bat- to give the playboy-vigilante an easy escape, he gritted his teeth and reached out, slipping his fingers through Bruce’s and clutching his hand tight. If the millionaire disapproved, he didn’t voice it.

Finally, across the massive dance floor, and up some small stairs, Bruce led the painted man over to an elevator. A large man stood in front of it, arms crossed, and over the thumping bass the Joker couldn’t hear what Bruce said, but suddenly the man moved, the doors opened, and he was ushered on- as if this had been Bruce’s idea all along.

When the doors closed silence filled his head, and the Joker sighed with relief. His senses could barely take the assault he’d been receiving all night from that pounding music- a few times he was sure his head had threatened to split in half. He leaned against the railing, reaching up with one hand to rub his temples- his ears listening for any sounds Bruce may make. He didn’t doubt the man would try to subdue him at any moment, if he saw the opportunity.

He heard the footsteps, but he waited, held his breath and wondered where the punch would land. A second passed though, before the Joker felt the contact.

It wasn’t a punch- though it could have knocked the wind out of the Joker just the same. Bruce’s hands reached up and shoved his away, fingers resting along his cheeks, thumbs pressing into his temples, rolling slowly, rhythmically.

“This place gives me migraines,” he was saying, his voice hushed, “I get it.”

The Joker cracked his eyes opened, exhaled his held breath, and felt his chest lurch at the soothing touches. Bruce seemed serious, as if he wasn’t enjoying it, but he didn’t pull away- only eased the ache from the Joker’s brain into his fingers and out into the air to dissipate. His palms brushed scars, and the Joker exhaled again, a soft sound coming with it this time- one he hadn’t intended to make.

Bruce’s fingers froze at that, then he was stepping back- a little pink tinging his cheeks. The Joker grinned, and Bruce looked away, just as the door opened. He stepped out of the elevator, the Joker following. He could still feel the hum and buzz of the music below, but the air didn’t pound with a beat, and that was calming.

They walked down a dark hall, lit by neon lights, and Bruce opened a door that nearly blended into the wall. Inside, there was one large room, with a small door off to the far wall- a bathroom. Dark, it had a few plush chairs, a mini fridge-

And a shiny pole right in the center. The Joker laughed at that, shutting the door behind him.

“Oh Bats, _do_ tell me you’re going to dance for me.”

“I’d let you slit my throat first,” Bruce said, walking over to a chair and sagging into it. “So what do you want, Joker? Money? You know who I am, so I’m supposing you’re going to blackmail me in the daylight.”

The Joker clicked his tongue as he wondered around the room, fingers running over one leather chair. “Bats, I’m offended,” he said, hand dropping to his side as he paced away, towards the soft couch. “It’s not about the money, Bats. It never was.” He skipped away from the couch, grabbed the pole, spun himself around it giggling. “It’s _all_ about the enter-tainment.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. What sort of entertainment was he thinking?

“And you’re the only entertainment I want, Brucie.” He hooked his arm around the pole, grinning still. “Though I’ve got to say, Bats- I never pictured you for a pole-dancing type of man. Guess I figured you wrong.”

“Please,” Bruce said, “going to places like this keeps up my appearance. And those things are just for show- unless you get someone drunk enough to try using one.” He sighed. “My night is ticking away- so either tell me what you want, or get on with trying to kill me.”

The Joker frowned, sighed, and then straightened up. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said, “not, ah, yet Bats. There’s so many nights of _playtime_ still left.” He sauntered forward, until he was slipping between Bruce’s legs and standing directly in front of him. “All I want, sugar, is you.”

“Me?” The question left Bruce’s mouth before he had time to think about it.

“You,” the Joker said with a giggle. He licked his lips, and Bruce felt his gut drop. _He can’t mean anything like that_.

The Joker leaned down, grabbing the front of Bruce’s shirt and jerking him forward, his painted mouth dangerously close. “I get you for a little bit, and everyone walks out of this place not even knowing it was rigged to, ah, _blow_.” He giggled, and Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat- he was beginning to see the man’s meaning.

“F-fine,” he stammered, cursing himself the moment of shown weakness. “But if you so much as even try to go back on your word, you won’t walk for months.”

“Brucie, _dar-ling_ , you’re the one that’s gonna have problems, ah, walking.” He winked, Bruce felt his brain plummet down into some stormy spiral of fear and disgust- and silently, a jolt of arousal he didn’t recognize- and then that painted mouth closed the gap and claimed his own, the Joker pressing into him, pushing him back and leaning over the chair, one hand braced on the arm.

Bruce should have nearly retched, he’d think later- but that mouth didn’t taste foul like he expected. It actually tasted _sweet_ , like the Joker had sucked on candy before he decided to ruin Bruce’s night. The lips were soft beneath the lipstick- warm and almost inviting. Bruce moved his mouth against the Joker’s before his mind could tell them this was a maniac- a _man_ , and not one of his dates.

When the man’s tongue traced his lower lip, Bruce shivered and opened his mouth, was plunged into darkness as his mouth was invaded, explored. A small sound escaped him, and then the Joker was climbing onto him as they kissed, straddling his hips and wrapping his arms around him.

The clown would have grinned if his mouth wasn’t so busy. Truth be told, he didn’t _expect_ it to be too hard to get his Bat into this- he knew he’d react the way he wanted him to. He knew from all those dances at night, the way his body reacted to any contact- even if the playboy couldn’t admit it, the Joker knew Bruce wanted him. The Joker knew he _needed_ him.

“Bats,” he gasped between breaths, arms around the broader man, one hand buried in his hair as Bruce’s arms clutched onto him, one hand trailing down, gripping his ass firmly.

Bruce’s head was spinning. Was it lack of oxygen- was he remembering to breathe? Were those the Joker’s fingers in his hair- when did they get so hot and nimble and soft? Was that his hand on his ass- why was the flesh so tantilizing? Why did Bruce find himself pushing his hips up gently against that body?

Was it hot, or was Bruce simply feverish and mad?

The Joker released him and tore the gold vest he was wearing off, throwing it to the floor. One of Bruce’s hands pushed his shirt up over his stomach, felt hot tight skin- tight muscle beneath, and the ridges of scars new and old. He traced one, along a muscle, before tracing the man’s navel, down to the hem of his pants. The Joker shivered.

“Good boy, Bats,” he said, leaning back from the kiss and leaving Bruce panting. He reached down, clutching the hem of his shirt and pulling it up a bit more, just above a few of his ribs. He grinned wickedly as Bruce’s hands ran over the flesh, as he leaned forward and kissed one scar. “ _Very good_ ,” he breathed, tilting his head back.

Bruce nuzzled into that stomach, held the man close- could feel a heart beat in his head- was that his own? He felt broken in a moment- from a fire to the crackling coals as water drowned them- as if this moment was meant to be for so long, and he had postponed it, to the point that it was distorted, forced to happen under cheap neon lights. He tightened his hold on the man as the Joker straightened, staring down.

Bruce was trembling. This wasn’t part of his plan- at least, not yet.

“Bats,” he said, quieter, calmer now, reaching down, stroking those dark locks with his long fingers. Somewhere below, in the distance, music still pounded to an erratic beat, though it felt like a world away. There was only this room, this man- so utterly unmasked and suddenly broken that the Joker was left speechless.

“I’m a mess,” Bruce was muttering into that skin. “I think I need a drink.”

The Joker chuckled, forcibly untangling himself from Bruce, and sauntering over to the little bar in the corner. There were a few bottles stocked, and he grabbed one, popped it open, and sniffed. Nostrils burning, he grinned and rummaged around for two glasses, pouring a generous amount into each and then coming back, handing one to Bruce- who was holding his head and looking down at the floor.

Bruce took it, took a drink- felt the burn of bourbon in his throat, and grimaced a little. The Joker nudged him a bit, before settling on his lap, draping his legs over the arm of the chair and taking a sip of his own drink.

“You know, by now you should be half naked,” he mused over his glass, eyeing Bruce, though feeling no rush. He had the whole night to eventually get to his Bat. The playboy groaned, took another drink, and the clown couldn’t help a giggle or two. “You’re lucky I like you enough, Bats, that I’m not threatening to blow this place sky high. I’d expect to see _your_ batarang by now.”

He winked, Bruce’s cheeks flushed- and he took another drink.

“I shouldn’t _like_ this,” he muttered, one of his hands reaching out to play with the Joker’s curls. “You’re a murderer, for God’s sake.”

“I’m a lot of things,” he pointed out, raising his glass in the air. “Don’t _categorize_ me, sugar, unless you’ve got the time to list all my lovely traits.” He took a long drink, wincing at the end, before he turned and kissed Bruce’s palm- his hand still toying with those green curls. “And you _should_ like this.”

“Why?”

“ _Because_ you’re about to get your rocks off,” he said, matter-of-factly, “and I promise, Bats, dar- _ling_ \- I’m better than those girls you had down there.”

“Don’t remind me of them,” he said, rolling his eyes and finishing his drink. Bruce reached down, let the glass fall to the floor. It _clinked_ , before tipping over and rolling a few inches away. “I’m so _sick_ of dating brainless, bitchy women.”

“You’d be the first to complain about a nice pair of tits,” the Joker said with a laugh- though his voice was serious. “I saw the brunette- Batsy doll- not bad.” He winked, and Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Do you-“

“Like women?” He took another gulp, grimaced, then clicked his tongue. “I’m, ah, not picky, Bats. But I’d dare say I’m _Bat_ -sexual.” Bruce’s cheeks tinged, and he felt the man shift his weight a bit, pressing down against his crotch. “And you, cupcake?”

“Women, of course,” Bruce said, as if that was the only answer available.

“Well, you might need to, ah, reflect on that a bit more,” the Joker said, “because I can feel just how _hard_ you’re getting, Brucie- and I promise, there’s no cunt between my legs.” He finished off his drink and tossed the glass- the sound of splintering glass the only sound aside of Bruce’s escaped breath. “So how about this, Bats. You _forget_ about all your labels, your preconceived notions of _who_ and _what_ you are- and give in to a little madness.”

He grinned, and maybe it was as simple as the stretch of those red lips that made Bruce give in. Maybe it was as complicated as his hazy identity and the complications of loving the Bat more than Bruce himself. But whatever the reason, Bruce reached out and pulled the man to him, kissed him to the dull flavor of expensive bourbon, and let the night break him.

He was reaching down with one hand as he kissed, opening the Joker’s pants with ease. His years as a playboy gave him ease with seduction and disrobing- he just hoped it would truly help with the Joker- with the bundle of twitching and unstable nerves on his lap that was devouring his lower lip- his tongue- licking at teeth and fingers digging into hair and cheeks and neck.

Once his pants were open he reached in, gripping the man’s erection through his underwear and teasing. The Joker’s breath hitched and he broke the kiss, pushing up into that hand. Bruce peeled the fabric away, freed his erection and gave it a firm stroke- again- and the Joker was looking down, watching, eyes transfixed, lips parted. He seemed almost detached, as if for the moment he didn’t realize it was _him_ Bruce was touching.

“Am I doing it right?” Bruce whispered, twisting his hand gently around the head before traveling back down. The Joker groaned- nodded- spoke in a husky voice,

“Yeah, Bats- you’re doing it right.” He bit his lower lip and finally tipped his head back, closing his eyes. He felt Bruce’s cock digging into his ass- ragingly hard and he was sure utterly _wonderful_ \- but at the moment he was in no rush to get to it. The Playboy’s movements were ideal, and the Joker couldn’t help put push his hips up, rock down against Bruce’s concealed hard-on- and groan his name, both “Bruce” and “Bats” alternating from those painted lips.

The Joker reached out and sank a hand into Bruce’s hair, toying and tugging and stroking his scalp, his breathing growing ragged. “Careful,” he breathed as Bruce stroked him faster- as those dark eyes ate into him with something hot and devouring.

“Why?” Bruce asked- all too naive and innocent, and the Joker giggled- until it broke into a load moan.

“Fuck, Bats, you’ll make me come,” he said without sugar-coating it, pushing into that hand, his free hand gripping onto Bruce’s leg beneath him to keep from trembling and falling of the playboy’s lap. Bruce hesitated a moment, before biting his lower lip and stroking faster, one arm wrapping around the Joker’s shoulders to pull him closer.

The slight intimacy of it all was what threw him over the edge- though the Joker was hard pressed to admit that. He cried out- sharp and crisp in the otherwise quiet room- and shot into Bruce’s hand. The playboy stroked until the man was trembling on his lap, until he was writhing and whimpering from the overload.

When Bruce did pull away, the Joker reached for him, grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand to his lips and let his tongue trace along the wetness he’d left behind. Bruce exhaled- groaned, squirmed a bit- felt his insides turn to fire and fury and need.

He was kissing the Joker before he’d realized he’d moved, pressing him close, tasting sharp bitterness and still the ghost of alcohol, the faint sweetness from before. His head spun, and the madman was clawing at his clothing, fingers working buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, throwing it somewhere into the dark. His hands traced over hard muscle and taught skin, memorizing as they inched over ever bit of the man the Joker could touch. He moaned into Bruce’s mouth, before pulling away to stare, to grin wickedly.

“You’re too much, Brucie,” he said, eyes drinking him in, and Bruce just grinned, leaning back and letting him look. The Joker tugged his own shirt over his head finally, tossing it away, and Bruce looked at pale skin, at how thin the man was in comparison. He knew there was muscle there, but he was lithe- androgynous, enticing.

He wanted to see more, to see those long, pale legs, the curve of his hip, the flesh he had clutched early. He wanted to part the man and drive into him and make him cry out louder.

He wanted to fuck the Joker, and how vehemently he wanted it scared him more than the subject himself.

The Joker seemed to see something in his eyes, for he began to laugh, hooking his fingers in his remaining clothing and tugging it down, revealing the hips Bruce wanted to see- the pale expanses of skin that framed the cock Bruce had so wantonly stroked. “I think we’re at an impasse, Bats,” he said, licking his lips. “You want to _fuck_ me, I can see it in your eyes.” He grinned when Bruce blushed, knowing full well he was right. “But I, ah, had the same plans for _you_ , sugar. What ever shall we do?”

He squirmed from Bruce’s lap, kicked his shoes off- and as Bruce watched, hungrily, stripped completely until he was naked and pale and glorious.

“C’mon Bats, even the playing field,” he teased, and Bruce was reaching down, unzipping his pants. He kicked his shoes off, stood and let his jeans fall- leaving him in just his underwear. The Joker raised an eyebrow- black, oh how did he know?- and took a step forward, another, closed the gap and reached out, cupping Bruce through the soft fabric. He cooed as Bruce’s breath escaped him.

“Oh Bats,” he said, stroking the length with an oddly high amount of care, “I guess I can give a _little_ \- just don’t disappoint me, sugar.” He winked, before hooking his fingers in the fabric and tugging it down, letting it drop to the floor.

He pushed Bruce back, so he fell back into the chair, and eyed his erection. His Bat had an inch on him, he’d give him that- he just hoped he knew how to use it.

Licking his lips, he slipped between those legs and onto the floor, one hand clutching onto Bruce’s cock and stroking as he leaned close, dragged his tongue along the head- heard a pleased gasp from his Bat- and then swallowed him down. Bruce bucked up- too taken aback by the sudden wet heat to think to contain himself- and gave a soft cry. The Joker successfully fought back the gag and tried to twist his lips into a grin around Bruce as his head bobbed slowly.

The floor was cold and hard on his knees, but he didn’t care. Bruce tasted salty, was hard in his mouth- but the skin so smooth. Every time he purposefully let the head of Bruce’s cock bump his cheek, into a scar, the man would groan, his hands clutching at the arms of the chair. Yes- the Joker didn’t want Bruce to forget exactly _who_ was sucking him off- who was causing him that chaotic spiraling heat in his gut and balls.

A few more bobs of his head, and then the Joker was crawling into his lap, straddling his hips, looming over Bats. He took one of the vigilante’s hands and sucked on a few of the fingers- expert tongue swirling in such a reminiscent way that Bruce’s wet cock twitched.

“You’re gonna have to help me a bit, Bats,” he said when he released those digits, “I can’t, ah, just take _all_ of you without getting warmed up.” He winked, and Bruce averted his eyes, before taking a deep breath and wrapping his arm around the Joker’s waist. The man leaned forward, draped one arm along the back of the chair as he felt those fingers slip past flesh and press against his entrance. “One at a time,” he whispered- realizing Bruce really _hadn’t_ ever been with a man before, and closed his eyes.

Taking the big bad Bat’s cherry- this night was just too sweet.

One finger slipped into him, and he exhaled- kept himself from moving as Bruce got comfortable with the feel, as he moved ever so slightly. A second finger joined the first before the Joker expected- and he gasped, a mix of delicious stretching and burning melting in his insides.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to?” the Joker asked, looking at Bruce from the side as those fingers pumped in and out of him, scissored a bit and made him tremble when they did- made him mewl. Bruce looked at him from the corner of his eyes, and whispered softly,

“No.”

Then a third finger, and the Joker howled, pushing towards Bruce’s hand, grinding back onto him, and those finger tips were brushing everywhere- so close- so close-

When Bruce hit that spot he cried out loudly, reaching back and trying to push that hand away.

“C’monc’monc’mon Bats,” he was urging, straightening up on Bruce’s lap, “ _fuck_ me.”

Bruce reached down, steadying his own cock as the Joker eased onto it, head tipped back, hair a tumble of green curls that seemed to almost glow in the faint, fake light. Bruce’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the feeling of such tightness- and one hand reached out to steady the man’s hips, to help him as he descended, and to his credit, took every inch of Bruce inside him.

He didn’t move for a minute, instead leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Bruce’s, breath mingling together. He was trembling- ever so softly, but Bruce could feel it. He stroked that pale hip with his thumb, tracing little circles into it, soothing. Then the Joker rocked his hips, lifted them gently, brought them back down, and the two moaned in unison. The Joker’s arms came down to Bruce’s shoulders, wrapped around them, clung, and he was moving.

Bruce’s thoughts all left him. His concerns, his reserves, his every internal utterance- it all disappeared into the white hot static of his mind. The only thing was the man on his lap, the body that gripped his cock exquisitely- the sounds tumbling from ruby lips and a sly tongue.

The Joker was babbling “Bats” over and over again as Bruce gripped his hips and drove up harder. His erection was back, hard and bumping his abdomen with each of Bruce’s thrusts. He reached down with one hand- left the other to cling so tightly to Bruce, as if he’d fall off the Earth without the other man’s solid presence- and stroked himself frantically, crying out with every thrust.

Bruce clutched those hips and felt himself barely able to hold on- this was too much, it was better than any sex he’d ever had- and he could barely think to keep from ending it all too soon.

“Tell me,” the Joker gasped, staring right into Bruce’s eyes as his lips parted and he moaned. “Tell me to _come_.”

Fingers digging into flesh, bruising for sure, Bruce gritted his teeth and spoke in a husky, needy voice. “Come,” he said, leaning forward and kissing the man, lips and tongue giving way as his inner Bat showed, as he devoured. “Fucking _come_ , Joker.”

He bit the man’s lower lip and ended everything. The Joker’s muscle spasmed- clutched so tightly to Bruce he thought he may never be able to untangle from the man. His teeth released that plump lip as the Joker howled his pleasure, and Bruce gave in too, following him into the hot void.

The Joker slumped forward, against him, panting, and Brace let his hands leave his hips, just wrap around him, hold him close. The clown nuzzled into the crock of his neck, kissed salty skin, shifted and caused them both to gasp. Trying to compose himself, the Joker leaned back, looked down at Bruce through thick lashes-

And grinned.

“Not so bad, is it, Bats?” he asked, and Bruce looked away, pulled back from his euphoric high. The Joker carefully climbed off him- the feeling of their bodies parting something bitter and foul to Bruce- and stalked off into the darkness to find the bathroom and clean up.

That left Bruce alone for precious moments. He stood and hunted for his clothing, getting back into his underwear and pants, finding his shoes and slipping them on. Had he really just done that? Did he really just fuck the Joker?

He was examining his shirt when the bathroom door opened again and the Joker sauntered out, still naked, still grinning. He raised one eyebrow at seeing Bruce mostly dressed, then _tsked_.

“Shame Bats- I was hoping for a few cuddles.” He laughed- was still laughing as he began dressing himself. Bruce watched as pale skin disappeared- and regretted suddenly dressing himself. If staying naked meant the Joker did, he wished he had. “Don’t run off,” the man said as he pulled his shirt on, slung his vest back over his shoulders. “I think I want another drink with you, sugar.”

Bruce buttoned his shirt up as the Joker grabbed the bottle of Bourbon and walked back, taking a swig from the bottle. He handed it to Bruce, who didn’t hesitate this time and took a drink. Bruce went to sit- then changed his mind and walked over to the plush couch, instead of the chair they had so defiled. He sat down and took another drink, before the Joker bounced over and took the bottle, tipping his head back and swallowing the burning liquid.

“Now what?” Bruce asked as the man straightened, winced, and licked those cherry lips.

“Why, Bats, that all depends.” He handed him the bottle and walked away, towards the pole that had his attention earlier. He ran his hand along it, gripped it, twirled around again, laughing. “Do you feel like smashing my skull in right now, sugar?”

“No,” Bruce admitted, taking a drink and watching idly.

“Breaking a few of my ribs?” He twirled around it again, this time hopping a bit so his feet were off the ground a second. He seemed giddy.

“Not even.” Another drink. Bruce’s head was beginning to swim.

“Tearing me limb from limb?”

“I’d rather not _tear_ you.” Bruce grinned, the Joker laughed, and then he was clutching the pole- and god be damned, launching himself up and spinning around it, before clutching it with his thighs and holding himself up, hands reaching up and stretching his arms. Bruce emptied the bottle and dropped it on the couch. “Were you a stripper in a past life?”

“Who knows, cupcake.” He giggled. “It’s sort of, ah, _fun_ , I have to say. Perhaps that’s what I’ll hijack next- a strip club.”

“How about you hijack my car- or better yet, my penthouse.” The Joker looked at Bruce, who was grinning, shrugging one shoulder. “Frankly, I’d rather not go home with one my dates now. The night would end miserably.”

Part of Bruce couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was drunk, he had to be- and still high on post orgasmic bliss. Yes. There was no other reason to want the company of this lunatic beyond what he had to endure- there was no other explanation for the desire to tumble with him again later- in a bed this time.

To maybe give the Joker a shot at violating him so sweetly.

The Joker let himself down and walked over, reaching out and offering Bruce a hand up.

“I’m not going to wake up in, ah, handcuffs, am I Bats?”

Bruce grinned. “No promises.” He winked this time, and the Joker cackled. Bruce kept the hand that had helped him up, fingers entangling, and led the Joker towards the hall, into the neon lights and back towards the elevator. Down on the main level, music was still pounding away- getting into their nerves and their skulls- causing the Joker to wince as Bruce led him through the crowds, towards the blessed exit.

Bruce parted from the Joker long enough to call his driver- and the Joker stuffed a hand into his pocket, pulling out the little detonator. He fiddled with it carefully, before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. His thugs could enjoy a night of headaches then, and no excitement.

He had all the excitement he needed right in front of him- and he was pretty sure his Bat had already forgotten about the ideal threat to the blasted club, anyway. He walked over to him and slipped into his free arm as Bruce talked, resting a hand on his chest rather sweetly and almost wishing Bruce’s dates would walk out at that moment- so he could sneer at them and let them know _exactly_ who light a fire in a man like Bruce Wayne.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer for a while now, like a third done. With work and grad school and midterms, I got a bit tied up. Feels good to finish something tho!
> 
> And yeah, I do really want to see the Joker pole dance now, for the giggles.


End file.
